


Trust Me, It's the Only Perk

by LizzyMidford



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A LOT not good, Big Brother Mycroft, Concerned John Watson, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Protective John, Protective Mycroft, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, autistic sherlock is mentioned, okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 16:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14169300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyMidford/pseuds/LizzyMidford
Summary: After season 4, episode 1, Sherlock breaks down without John's knowledge.One night, John gets a concerning phone call.





	Trust Me, It's the Only Perk

 It was almost four in the morning. John had just gotten Rosie to sleep and he was ready to pass out dead. 

John loved Rosie, and after her mother's death, he had put every ounce of his time into the girl. He knew that his intentions weren't completely pure, that he was somewhat using her to keep himself busy, stay distracted, but as long as his daughter got the attention that she deserved, he didn't really care. 

Plus, it kept his mind off of Sherlock. 

It just hurt thinking about the other man. His ex best friend. John loved him, deeply, but it was too much to take in, especially Mary's death. John obviously didn't blame Sherlock for his wife's passing, not truly, but it was so much easier to accept with a face to it with a reason. With a face to direct all of his anger and sadness towards. It hurt to use Sherlock as some sort of scapegoat, but that's the first thing his mind jumped to.

That didn't make him hate himself any less, but it was somewhat helpful in easing the sting. 

John's eyes were close to closing when his mobile phone rang in his bedside table. 

Without checking the caller ID, he answered it. 

"What do you ne-" he was cut off by the vice of Mycroft Holmes, the oddly frantic voice. John had only heard Sherlock's older brother that distraught once before, Christmas morning, with Magnussen. 

"If my little brother gets any worse, if we can't save him,  so help me, John. .. so help me..."

 Suddenly, he was wide awake. "Mycroft? What are you..?"

"What on earth were you even thinking? I showed you his medical files and yet... I really should have suspected this would happen. I never should have left him alone, I never should have placed him on your care..."

John couldn't help taking offense. Obviously, the implications that he was somehow incapable of being a proper caretaker and sober companion were frustrating and Mycroft's harsh tone only bristled John up more.

"Mycroft, what on earth is going on here?" John raised his voice. Mycroft didn't say a word, this was going from confusing to concerning. "Mycroft..."

"I'll send a car for you, though I do urge caution while you go. The second it seems you'll be a problem, it will be changed, am I clear?"

"Y-yes, of course, Mycroft. Where is Sherlock? Is he okay?" John had a pit ever growing in his stomach. 

It was difficult, carrying Rosie without waking the baby, but he somehow managed to slide her into the children's seat and into Mycroft's suspicious looking car without a peep. Mycroft smiled down at the baby in something oddly akin to sentiment. 

"Ah, how... functioning," John wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment. "Similar to Sherlock at that age. Do you know that, when she was born, my brother showed me more than five pictures of her on more than three occasions. He glowed with almost pride, as though he were personally responsible for her existence, he obviously wasn't, but he loved her as though he was..." A sigh escaped his lips.

"Why are you talking about him in the past tense?" John asked, his breath catching. This is such an odd experience, it had him on edge. "He's okay, right?"

"When is my brother ever okay?" Myrcroft seemed to speak in riddles, which wasn't helping to ease John's anxiety at all.

"Where are we going?" 

Mycroft simply nodded, gesturing outside the window. John's heart stopped when he saw what was outside.

ISt. Bart's hospital. The same one that Sherlock had faked his suicide off of what seemed like forever ago. 

John had avoided that hospital for the years since Sherlock's return, pretend that the hospital didn't exist, hence the events that took place on its roof and the sidewalk around it were also nonexistent. The idea of walking towards the building was scary. He was afraid that, if he were to be on the sidewalk in front of St. Bartholomew's, then Sherlock would be on the roof, completing the scene and taking away John's everything once again in front of his eyes.  

Now, even with the sky still dark, he could have sworn that Sherlock's figure on top of the roof. It was obviously not there, but dear God. The car stopped. 

"Follow me..." 

It took around thirty four minutes of talking, papers, following. Mycroft had ensured that security was tight and had several points in which he had codes to alert police. 

"This is his room. Be quiet, he may not be awake." John nodded, clutching a newly awakened daughter to his chest. 

God, he's so afraid. "Could you, I don't know, brief me? So I know what to expect?"

Mycroft seemed completely defeated, preparing himself. 

"This morning, at three twenty two, my younger brother had attempted to take his own life." John's breath stopped. "He did it both via overdose, I found his list, and cuts across his arms." 

Mycroft's eyes seemed to glaze over, looking at nowhere in particular as the sentences died off. "I was only alerted because he did it by your practice, had he not left his flat, he'd have..." a moment to compose himself, "He'd not have made it..."

 


End file.
